Page 88 of The Don's Eternal Vows

The door creaks open, and Marco steps in, his face hinting at trouble. "Boss, we've got a problem."

I lean back, steepling my fingers. The words are familiar, but this time, I'm ready. "Go on, Marco."

He swallows hard. "The guns we just delivered to Esposito. They're fakes."

This time, I don’t need to ask how many.

“The entire shipment, I’m guessing?” I ask.

Marco nods.

I smile and when I do, Marco looks confused.

I recall the previous timeline, the mistakes made in haste and anger. Not this time.

I light another cigar, letting the smoke curl around me as I consider our options. The old Gianni would have reacted with immediate force, but I've been given a rare gift – foresight.

"Sometimes," I muse, more to myself than Marco, "the best defense is an unexpected move."

Marco's brow furrows. "Boss?"

I lean forward, a plan already forming. "Get me a secure line to Greco's office. It's time we had a chat, man to man."

As Marco hurries to comply, I can't help but smile. This time, I'll write a different ending to our story.

The line rings once, twice, three times. My free hand absently traces the scar on my chin.

"Greco," a gruff voice answers.

I take a slow, measured breath. When I speak, my voice is calm and authoritative. "Paolo. It's Gianni Montagna."

A pregnant pause. I can almost hear the gears turning in his head.

"Montagna," he growls. "You've got some nerve--"

"I'm calling to propose a truce," I interject smoothly, cutting through his bluster. "And an opportunity that could benefit us both."

Another pause, longer this time. I press on, my words carefully chosen. "I'm prepared to offer you a share of my territories. A partnership, if you will. It's time we ended this war and consolidated our power."

The silence on the other end of the line is deafening. This is the moment that will determine our future – Genoveva's and mine. I won't let it slip away.

"A partnership?" Greco scoffs, his voice dripping with skepticism. "What's your angle, Montagna?"

I lean back in my chair, a faint smile playing on my lips. I've anticipated this reaction. "No angle, Paolo. It's just good business sense. Our war has cost us both dearly. Imagine what we could accomplish if we combined our resources instead of wasting them fighting each other."

I pause, letting the idea sink in. My fingers drum lightly on the desk, a subtle rhythm matching the tension in the air.

"You're offering me a piece of your empire just like that?" Greco's voice is laced with disbelief and a hint of curiosity.

"Not just like that," I counter, my tone firm but measured. "It's a strategic move. We'd be stronger together, able to expand our influence beyond Sicily. Think bigger, Paolo. Think of the possibilities."

I can almost hear the wheels turning in Greco's mind. The silence stretches, but I resist the urge to fill it. Patience is key in negotiations like these.

Finally, Greco speaks, his voice cautious. "And how do I know this isn't some kind of trap?"

I lean forward, my voice dropping to a near whisper. "Because, Paolo, I'm offering you something you can't refuse – a chance to write history instead of being buried by it.”

“Why me? There are others you can call,” he questions.

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